Disclaimer: The Loud House and associated characters belong to Nickelodeon and Chris Savino
LolaPresent: Greetings, readers! The following story marks a return to my roots. However, it is just as different from my earlier works as my latter. A while back, I wrote a story titled Restless, where CatSpeaker served as proofreader and editor despite my having written the entire story. The primary issue I have faced recently is stagnation, stemming from a lack of real-world experience outside my bubble. To remedy this, I decided it might be an exciting idea and invigorating to involve the thoughts of another mind. With that idea in mind, I invited FicAlthusserist to co-author a story with me, and he agreed. Everything from the plot, characters, scenes, events, and dialog gets thoroughly discussed between us before writing even begins, initially working through ideas as roleplay sessions. This story is going to be long and will take place over many years. As such, it will have my undivided attention, and until its completion, all other stories are on hiatus. Lastly, I want to mention that the chapters will be longer than you're used to, so be patient. We sincerely hope you enjoy the ride!
FicAlthusserist: Below is the first chapter of the new story I am co-writing with Lola Presents. This is not my first rodeo, and I am currently working with the highly talented CatSpeaker on Without Sin: All Star Edition. My shameless self promotion over, Lola Presents is one of the first people I took notice of in the FF Loud House writing community. To watch her slowly growing into a talented young writer is a joy to behold and I feel privileged to be working with her on this new story. As for the story itself, while Lola Presents had become known of late for writing rather sensationalist, escapist, stories, this can be seen as return to her earlier works for a more emotionally grounding and realistic, that is as realistic as an incestuous story involving underage cartoons characters can be, story that marked her earlier writing but returning to it with the experience she has now to produce something far more emotionally powerful, at least, that's what we hope! You, the fans, will be the judge if we succeed or not...
Secrets of the Heart
Cowritten by LolaPresent and FicAlthusserist
Chapter 1
At nine years old, Lola was even more self-centered and into pageantry than ever. She had not only aged up within the pageant structure, but her hard work at modeling paid off, earning several lucrative commercial deals. Though she continuously got shuttled around by one of her parents or older siblings, there was one person she couldn't live without.
Her brother, Lincoln, had been by her side since she began pageantry at five, reading to her from Gil DeLily's books and trying his best to coach her. Of course, he learned about the business as much as she did, perhaps more. And though he probably would've preferred being somewhere else, doing something more entertaining with his friends, he stuck with her. Lincoln was always there, helping with everything from her hair to her outfits.
Such intimacy breeds a closeness, whether one likes it or not. Many celebrities get married for this very reason. Likewise, Lola and Lincoln became awkwardly close over the years. He'd seen her naked body many times as he tweaked the lay of her shoulder straps or adjusted the crotch of her leotard. However, they were siblings. Nothing more, nothing less, and neither thought much of it. In a household as large as theirs, things like that were bound to happen regardless, and they kept it professional.
But underneath her professionalism, Lola was still a little girl who needed attention and felt the urge to unwind by playing pretend. While her stuffed animals and dolls typically filled that role, sometimes she needed a living participant. Playing alone was fine up to a point. But for something more creative, she required another mind present. And, as she sat at her little tea table, which grew smaller every year, she sighed. Having Mr. Sprinkles toast her accomplishments wasn't exciting, voicing him herself.
Then, grinning like a banshee, she stood and shuffled into the hall. Opening Lincoln's door as if she owned it, she clasped her hands by her waist, batted her eyes at her brother, and cooed with honey in her voice.
"Oh, Lincoln," she called in a sing-song voice, emphasizing and prolonging key syllables. "I need someone to play 'Award's Night' with me."
Puberty. For some, it hit like a truck. Almost overnight, the pimples, cracking voices, and 'hair where there was no hair before,' like they were experiencing their first full moon after being bitten by a werewolf. For Lincoln, though, things were not going as quickly as he'd like.
Staring in the bathroom mirror with his shirt off, Lincoln signed in resignation at what he saw. Instead of a bear-like layer of fur, there was a thin dusting of little hairs. Instead of a deep booming voice, he sounded as high as before. Clyde, ugh, he sounded so cool and smooth! These days he could read out the numbers of Pi, and girls would start swooning. Not that he was jealous. Well, maybe a little.
That's why Lincoln, for all his complaints, was not overly worried because, in at least one area, things were progressing as well as he had hoped. His little Lincoln was not so little anymore. It's not that he was trying to be a perv or anything, but in the showers at school after gym class, he could not help but notice he was among the biggest in his class.
"Maybe I should change my tagline from 'the man with the plan' to 'the man with the wang,'" he thought with some amusement.
But that was the problem. Lincoln was fourteen. It's not like he would be showing his you-know-what to girls his age. Lincoln knew it was too soon, and the prospect was rather scary. The most he wanted to do right now was get a girlfriend and make out. And for that, it was what was upstairs, not down, that was important.
Leaning forward, Lincoln squinted at the spot above his lip. There was one tiny mustache hair struggling to grow. He had found it the week before, named him Mustachio, and imagined him speaking with a thick Mexican accent to the hairs still below his skin, "Come amigos, join me in the sun!" But the others would not listen.
Putting his shirt back on, Lincoln returned to his bedroom. Maybe he should do some push-ups? Get the hormones flowing? Getting on the floor, Lincoln managed ten before he was a sweaty mess and panting like Charles when Lynn took him for a walk. Well, walking was the wrong usage. A run would be more like it.
Climbing back up, he sat in his bed feeling rough. Damn his noodle arms! Just then, he heard his door open. Lincoln looked to the side to see his younger sister Lola come in and took in her words.
"Awards Night, huh?" Lincoln said. While most older brothers would groan at indulging a younger sibling like this, Lincoln greatly enjoyed her company. It helped that, while still very much a little girl in some ways, there was a maturity to Lola once you dug past the bratty surface that was beyond her years. "Sure, sounds fun," Lincoln answered, smiling. "But you know I'm not the most 'impartial' judge, right?" Grinning, Lincoln took Bun Bun from his shelf, "But Bun Bun, on the other hand, he's pretty hard to impress." Lincoln then folded his stuffed rabbit's arms and raised its head in a snooty, disproving way.
"Well then..." snorted Lola, folding her arms and glowering at the stuffed rabbit that had begun to show signs of wear. "He doesn't get an invitation then! But you..." she continued, grabbing her brother by the arm and dragging him to her room, where she'd prepared a chair to use as a podium. "You have to give the opening statements," she implored. "Make sure to make me look better than my rivals, now!"
With her desires voiced, she patted Lincoln on the butt, ushering him toward the chair which overlooked her stuffed animals, arranged neatly on the bed. Eagerly, Lola stood to the side, awaiting her cue to take Lincoln's place and give her acceptance speech. But, as she beamed gleefully at him, he seemed different somehow. She couldn't put her finger on what had changed, though. With him constantly at her side, it would've been difficult to notice any gradual change. But she was sure. Lifting one brow, she squinted her other eye and studied him intently as he prepared himself.
Nobody likes a critic, Lincoln had thought, trying not to smirk as Lola's hand yanked his arm, causing Bun Bun to fall to the floor. The truth was Lola was never good at receiving criticism, Lincoln pondered. She would always get mad and snap at them. Lola thought she would always succeed in cutting them down with some biting remark, but she lacked Luan's quick wit, so most of them came across as childish insults.
Except Lincoln realized when it came from him, it was different. Her defensive shields would drop, and she'd pay him rapt attention, listening carefully and weighing his words. Whatever he said, she trusted him to know what he was talking about and only have her best interests at heart. Honestly, it was a nice feeling to get valued like that.
Steeping onto the "stage," Lincoln cleared his throat. Usually, he would have time to prepare, but Lola wanted her ego stroked right now for whatever reason, and he was happy to oblige. She worked so hard, and it's not like she didn't deserve it.
"What defines a girl today?" Lincoln began, addressing the audience of stuffed animals and dolls. "If a girl can truly be anything she wants, by what metric do we judge them? In the past, the answers were simple: a certain standard of beauty, confidence, poise, and hidden talent. How have things changed? Well, we've learned there are many different kinds of beauty. To quote Smash Mouth, 'All that glitters is gold.' We've learned that confidence must get tempered by humility. Poise is more than walking like there is a book on your head but rather showing you're truly at ease with yourself and your talent. With the bar raised, our young contestants must reach toward the stars to grasp it. Tonight, twelve contestants will be vying for your votes..." Lincoln continued, rattling off fake trivia about the other eleven imaginary girls until, at last, he reached Lola.
Lincoln paused and turned to the young, blond pageant queen, his face swelling with genuine pride.
"And last but by no means least is Miss Lola Loud from Royal Wood's, two-time winner of the converted Little Miss Michigan title and star of the hit Peachy Perfect shampoo commercial, which, according to Forbes, contributed to a forty-seven percent increase in sales over the last quarter. I hope you have sunglasses, judges, because to look upon Lola Loud when she performs is to stare directly at the Sun. It's to be dazzled by light and warmth."
Lola's mouth silently opened and closed a few times before she caught herself. They'd played this game many times, and Lincoln always had something interesting to say. His flair for improvisation was unparalleled, except for Luan. However, this time, he'd gone well beyond the simple protocols of pageantry. Blinking, Lola cleared her head and went to her closet, throwing open the double Venetian doors.
"Okay..." she murmured, still in shock at Lincoln's description of her. "The first segment will be formal wear," she announced before looking over her shoulder at her brother. "What did you have in mind, coach?"
It was a dance they'd done a thousand times, maybe more. But something felt different this time. Despite all they'd be through together, she'd never blushed once. But tonight, she glowed crimson, and her body trembled slightly. It was barely noticeable, but it was there, a feeling she couldn't identify, a nervousness that made her head swim. Still, they were putting on a faux pageant, and she had to maintain her dignity. Shaking her head clear, Lola stepped aside so Lincoln could choose her outfit.
Lincoln quickly crossed the room to his sister's closet. He always marveled at how much bigger it seemed inside, like the time machine in that British science fiction show he watched with Clyde.
Formal wear was a little tricky. He'd not be playing to Lola's apparent strengths. The girl was simultaneously cute in a sweet kid way and beautiful in a more mature one. You only needed the right makeup and outfit to emphasize a particular side. Formal wear was not an easy fit for her. Oh, don't misunderstand. She could pull it off. It just required a little more thought.
Lincoln pulled out a skirt that went down to Lola's knees, knowing it was a little tight, encouraging more conscious movement. To this, he added a few different pairs of lacy white socks folded upon themselves. The color and style he picked would depend on the blazer she'd wear, which he knew was down to Lola. She was not some dress-up doll but a very fashion-conscious girl who kept up with what was in and what was yesterday's news. Of the blazers, she'd pick the best one for the moment, and he'd match the socks and undershirt accordingly.
Four blazers were in the closest, and Lincoln fished them all out. He'd pick the undershirt later.
"I'm thinking this skirt, it screams cosmopolitan," Lincoln explained, "Paired with one of your blazers, which do you think would be best?"
"Hm..." murmured the slightly unsettled girl as she perused the choices. "Well, if we're going for a professional look, I think the three-quarter sleeve, cotton one would work best. But..." she added. "The half-sport jacket would be more casual and fun."
Sighing, she stooped, lifted the hem of her tired old pink gown over her head, and tossed it onto the bed. Likewise, she peeled off the long white dinner gloves she constantly wore and dismissed them before sitting on her bed and removing her socks. Then, standing before her confidante and coach in nothing but her lacy white cotton panties, she spread her arms and legs slightly, preparing herself for the fitting.
"Okay," she chirped, holding her head high. "Work your magic," she requested.
However, at that moment, Lana briskly strolled into the room and walked between them, heading for her bedside. "Um," she mumbled. "Excuse me. Lynn clogged the bowl again. I need my plunger."
Lola furrowed her brows and glared at her sister silently as she tracked her across the room and back.
"What are you guys doing, anyway?" Lana inquired, coming to a standstill before them. "Playing house?" she joked, followed by such laughter she had to hold her gut.
"No!" spat Lola with consternation, sternly pointing toward the door. "Just leave! Okay?"
"Fine, fine!" clamored Lana before rushing from the room. "Whatever..."
Finally, Lola sighed and retook her stance, waiting for Lincoln to dress her.
If you present the statement the fourteen-year-old boy admired his practically naked nine-year-old sister's body in isolation, you'd likely see images in your head of the "FBI OPEN UP!" meme. However, nothing could be further from the truth.
Lincoln admired Lola's body like an athletic coach appreciated the muscles of someone he was training. Her body was the most crucial component in her competitive arsenal. On instinct, his eyes trailed over her skin, looking for blemishes, blocked pores, and excess fat beyond what was appropriate for a growing girl her age.
"She's perfect," he thought, "absolutely perfect."
Lana stomping between them with all the grace and dignity of a hippo on roller skates had broken him from his inspection. They were total opposites to people who did not know them well, but Lincoln knew better. What pushed them to be different was they were both the same at their core. Both wanted to stand out, using merits of their own.
Lana's comment about them 'playing house' had him rolling his eyes. He was old enough now that he'd started to get comments from guys at school about his 'hot' and 'sexy' older sisters. Not like the innocent questions he used to get from Clyde when they were kids, and he had that crush on Lori, but dirty ones, "Hey Linc, you ever walk in on Lynn in the shower? Does Luna walk around the house in her underwear?" Crap like that. He'd gotten a little worked up, to tell the truth, guys objectifying his sisters like that, wanting him to tell them what they looked like in more intimate situations. He'd not gotten into any fights over it, but he shouted at a few of them and felt his blood boil.
"I think the sports jacket would be best," Lincoln said, putting his mind back to the task as he raced through the different undershirts Lola had that could go with it. A few caught his eye, and he filed them away, but truthfully, none complemented it.
"It's a shame you don't have anything in orange," Lincoln mused. And then it hit him. He was wearing an orange tee shirt right now! Furthermore, it was a little tight on him. The skirt was long enough that the length would not show. Yes. Yes! It would complement the outfit well! His shirt's darker shade of orange would help to subdue the bright yellow. "Let's think outside the box!" Lincoln said excitedly. "Try this on for size!" With that, Lincoln pulled off his shirt and handed it to her.
Lola stared at Lincoln's chest as he removed his shirt, and what had changed about him finally hit her. Well, not entirely. She was still a child, hadn't reached puberty, had the talk, or taken sex ed. Nevertheless, with a house full of older sisters, she knew a few things. Though not in any detail. The change she sensed was Lincoln becoming a young man, and her fears grew ever stronger. Two of her sisters had already left the house, Lori and Leni, and Luna wouldn't be long behind them.
The thought of eventually losing Lincoln nearly overwhelmed the small girl, and she eagerly snatched the shirt he offered from his hand before he had fully extended it. Anything to keep him close was good. Pulling it over her head and slipping her thin, childish arms through the sleeves, she closed her eyes and took in his scent before pulling it completely over her head. She was unaware of how tight it had been on her brother as the hem came down to her knees.
"This'll do nicely," she observed with glee. "It suits the color palette well. I know it's a little large, but we're just pretending. Right?" she asked, looking for reassurance after how intensely Lincoln had stared at her body not a few moments before.
"Absolutely," Lincoln said with approval. "The great thing about these practice sessions is the chance to explore and experiment." Lincoln looked his sister up and down. He, too, had noticed the obvious. Despite it being one of his older shirts, it was pretty loose on her, too loose. If they wanted to see how it looked, they needed to do something about that.
He knelt before her, bringing his face level to hers, "May I?" He asked, reaching his hands towards the bottom of the shirt, stopping at the hem, awaiting her approval. Lola nodded, a little confused, and Lincoln gently took the edge of the shirt in both hands, his fingers softly caressing the side of the girl's underwear-clad hips, provoking a slight shudder from her. "Sorry, I didn't mean to tickle you," the boy innocently said as he brought his hands to the front, thankfully avoiding touching her in a far more sensitive place.
Lincoln leaned in slightly, unintentionally breathing onto her neck. He tied the bottom of the shirt together, pulling it tighter across her chest and stomach, hiding its true side. "There," he said, smiling. "The top of the skirt should conceal the knot. It's not perfect, but I think it will give us a good idea of how it would look if it were the correct size.
Lola stepped back and appraised herself in the vanity mirror. "Looks fine to me," she announced as she recovered from giggling. "I look good in orange. Don't you think?" she teasingly inquired before returning to her brother for the rest of the outfit.
Lincoln seemed to be acting rather oddly. They had an unspoken understanding when getting dressed, styling her hair, and putting on makeup. Why he seemed so hesitant was beyond Lola. They were close, were they not? Sure, it was off for siblings, but that's how they were, and Lola never saw anything wrong with it. She once had to throw a fit before the pageant committee over it. Last year, they decided Lincoln was getting too old to hang around backstage with so many young girls in various states of undress and banned him. However, Lola wasn't about to train a new assistant, let alone a coach, so she threatened to resign. Not wanting to lose one of their best draws, they allocated one of the spare janitor closets for her so Lincoln could continue aiding her.
"Lincoln?" she whispered delicately. "Are you alright? You've been acting a little distracted today. If you don't want to do this, you don't have to. We can do something else instead.
The question caught Lincoln off guard, and his first thought was to dismiss it out of hand. Such was also his second and third thought, but he had begun to reflect a little by his fourth.
Why had he hesitated a little just now before assisting her with her clothes, and what was with him trying to go full Marlin Brando with that opening speech?
Was he conscious of Lola being a girl? No, he knew that was not it. Putting aside that she was nine and had none of the curves his young hormones craved, he was not some Siscon anime character. Lola was his sister, end of the story.
It was not that he was conscious of her. Instead, he was starting to become aware of himself. Despite the half a decade age gap between him and Lola, what had united them and made it seem less significant was they were both kids, children, far from adult responsibilities or expectations.
But now, he didn't feel like a kid anymore, even though he still technically was. The term did not sit right with him. It was suffocating somehow and uncomfortably tight around his skin, like he was a lizard that needed to shed its scales. Even the word teenager was not a good fit. He'd felt the same at thirteen as he did at twelve. He'd heard the term adolescent banded around, which seemed more in tune with how he saw himself.
Lincoln remembered his earlier choice of words. He'd used "practice" to describe their actions, while Lola used "play" and "pretend." That's what this was to her, a game. A competitive game, sure, one she invested herself in winning. But he'd started to think of this as a job, and with that came the added pressure of losing, of failing in his responsibilities to her. Lola was simultaneously his little sister and his boss.
In his mind's eagerness to dissociate itself from being a child playing a game with his younger sister, he realized he had unconsciously projected an older mindset onto her, one that would have that adult ruthlessness to win and sexual modesty.
But how would he even begin to articulate this to her?! He had to say something. Her anxiety was evident, and she had drawn all the wrong conclusions.
"No, Lola," Lincoln said, shaking his head, "I'm happy to do this and not just because your my adorable little sister. I've learned much about being a manager, a stylist, and a coach. I enjoy it. Honest. I've only..." Lincoln trailed off. "How do I word this in a way she'd understand," he mused. "It's just... Maybe I've been trying too hard to be some professional big-shot adult manager rather than having fun as your older brother."
Lola wasn't confident in his answer. It was clear he enjoyed helping her and took the coach role seriously. However, she also knew he had other interests. While playing Award's Night sprung from what she had already been doing, its primary function was to have Lincoln spend time with her. But, as she sat on her bed, staring at him recite a carefully worded reply, she realized spending time with him could come in many forms.
"I see," she acknowledged, leaning back on her hands and crossing her legs. "If you're sure. You could teach me to play one of your video games instead."
Lincoln smiled warmly at his sister. Despite his teenage angst regarding his growing up, it's not like Lola has just stood still. She was changing, too, showing an increasing maturity. Perhaps as recently as a year ago, she'd not have thought twice about being the center of attention and demanding Lincoln only do what she wanted.
Crossing the room, Lincoln sat beside Lola and draped an arm over her shoulders. "You make it sound like we never get to explore my interests, though. Remember me being your gadget coach and Warrior Maiden?"
Warrior Maiden was the talent routine that had nabbed her second victory as Little Miss Michigan. He knew going in it would be an uphill struggle. Officially, Lola competed with everyone on an even level. Unofficially, the judges scrutinized her far more to avoid accusations of favoritism toward previous winners. In studying the tapes of earlier contests for research, Lincoln had seen performances from former winners that he was sure, had they never won before, would have been enough to win.
To compensate, Lincoln had hit upon the idea of picking up massive points in the talent section by showing the judges something they had never seen before. His vision had been to build upon her gymnastic skills to pull off a martial arts performance by making Lola a Klingon warrior from Star Trek. He had assumed she'd be skeptical, but her absolute trust had been overwhelming. He outlined to her the idea of doing a tragedy/revenge coming-of-age story of a young Klingon girl whose father was murdered in front of her, and the murderer lied that it was a death in honorable combat. The murderer then took her mother as his new wife and used more deception to cast the young girl out of their once noble house. Later, the girl returned to seek vengeance and reclaim her disgraced name.
They had watched the best Klingon episodes of Star Trek together, with Lincoln providing context. As he expected, while the science fiction setting did little for her, she could appreciate many of the Klingons' cultural aspects central to the story he wanted to tell. The celebrity world Lola followed had codes of conduct that resembled the Klingon code of honor. Reputation was everything. Lying to disgrace a fellow celebrity with malicious gossip they knew to be untrue was a severe offense. Of course, family was more important to the Louds than most.
It took months of training with a blunted Klingon bat'leth, but eventually, Lola got the moves down. To this was added a pre-filmed sequence that got projected behind her. She would be in perfect synch with the background outlined in the story and the dummies on stage. Lincoln called on various Star Trek fan sites to help make Lola an adult Klingon warrior, and her elaborate blocking and dodging would match. After all, they could not have actual combatants on stage for her to fight.
She'd received a standing ovation, of course. While Lincoln had never been more proud of her for stepping out of her comfort zone and knocking it out of the park, deep down, he was happy that they got to explore one of his interests together, and Lola had been able to enjoy and appreciate it as well.
"Yeah, I know..." sighed Lola, rubbing her left arm with her right and averting her gaze. "I remember that. The makeup was greasy, and that forehead thing was gross. Still..." she mused. "It did get me a win. But that's the point. It was still about me and pageants."
While Lola had always had moments when she stepped out of her comfortable box, they weren't many and usually involved guilt. But, this time, things felt different. Lincoln was growing up, and so was she. She'd already shed some of her childhood stigmas but wasn't there yet. Her thoughts still revolved around herself, while Lincoln's was almost unilaterally about others. At least, that's how it appeared to Lola. Though he seemed overly dedicated to her, and it slightly unsettled her.
Yes. There were times when Lola had little else to do and resigned herself to doing something with one of her siblings. Likewise, she had done so with Lincoln before. But those times were void of any real meaning other than the passage of time. Now, she wanted to do something with Lincoln rather than feeling forced to. Lincoln seemed to understand her, yet she knew little of what made Lincoln tick. The surface elements were easy enough. He liked science fiction, fantasy, and superheroes, whether in the form of television shows, movies, or comics.
But why?
What did he see in them? To Lola, they all seemed like nerd activities. And yet, the audience had eaten up the Warrior Maiden routine. It wasn't the first time, but Lola wondered if she was missing something. "No, really," she insisted, resting one hand on Lincoln's shoulder while nodding slightly. "I want to try something else. Please?"
Lincoln took in Lola's words. He had assumed this was only a sign of her increasing maturity of feeling conscious about always being the center of attention. Sure, that was part of it, but now he believed there was more to it than that. She was branching out. Lola associated her life with pageants for as long as she could remember. She was probably taking the first tentative steps to explore her identity outside this highly structured activity.
There was also their close relationship. Lincoln would never admit it on pain of death, insisting that he didn't play favorites, but the truth was that with all the time they had spent together the last few years, he felt closer to her than his other sisters. When she smiled at him, his heart would flutter differently, somehow, than it did for their other siblings.
He was sure she felt it too, this closeness, and maybe she was testing it, perhaps not consciously, but wanting to see if it was artificial, just an unintended side effect of them spending so much time together with him as her pageant coach or if they could be just as close doing other things.
Deep down, Lincoln admitted to himself he was curious too. While he certainly didn't have anything close to being worked out regarding his future, he already had a sense that, assuming she wanted it too, he would still want her to be involved and a part of his life. When he someday got married and had kids, for example, when they did family holidays, he'd want her to come, whether she had a partner or kids of her own, so that he could share that part of his life with her too.
"Okay," Lincoln said softly, squeezing her hand. It was a Saturday, and they could do more than play games in his room. "If you wanna explore some stuff we could do together besides pageant stuff, things I'm into that you might like too, why don't you get dressed, and I can take my cute sister out on a date to Gus' Games and Grub? They have many different games there. I'm sure we'll find one we both like."
Lincoln had said date playfully, using finger quotes in the air, and winked to highlight he was not being serious about it being an actual date. They were brother and sister, but he needed to use the word, even if jokingly, because he wanted to stress that, while not a date, this was more than just hanging out to spend quality time with each other.
Lola beamed at Lincoln, thoughts of romantic intercessions never crossing her mind. Even the notion of their outing being a date hadn't gotten so much of a ruse out of her. Just the thought of having a fun time away from the family excited her to no end.
"Really?" she asked, bounding on the balls of her feet. "That sounds amazing! Maybe we can grab some chilidogs, fries, and a shake!"
Hurriedly, she pushed Lincoln toward the door before turning toward her closet. "You go get ready! Give me five minutes, and I'll join you downstairs!" she ordered. "I can drive us there in my jeep, but you might be cramped. I only hope Lana didn't forget to charge it."
She always loved doing things with Lincoln. She also loved eating and playing at Gus' Games and Grub. And Lincoln had just mentioned both. Frantically, she browsed through her clothing for something she could move around well in and still feel stylish. Even before Lincoln had left the room, Lola had stripped to her panties and pulled out a pair of designer jean shorts, complete with white filly lace around the leg openings and a short-sleeve white blouse. Topping the ensemble off with a pink belt, lacy white socks, and her pink Converse, Lola smiled at herself in the vanity mirror.
Her face was still in pageant cosmetics, which wouldn't do in public. Conscientiously, she removed her makeup, reapplying only a bit of rouge, eyeliner, and lip gloss. Finally, to keep her hair orderly, she pulled it back into a neat ponytail and secured it with a pink scrunchie. When satisfied, she bolted downstairs and waited by the back door, closer to where she'd parked her jeep by the garage wall outlet.
Lacking the giddy enthusiasm of his sister Lincoln went idly through different shirts he could throw on. He'd only realized he'd forgotten to ask for his shirt back after he was already in his room. Oh well, he'd get it later. Or not. For some reason, he liked the idea of Lola holding onto it.
Remembering Lola's comment about food later, combined with the fact they would be gaming, he decided to settle on a Sonic the Hedgehog tee shirt. If you knew your video game trivia as Lincoln did, you'd know chili dogs were Sonic's favorite food. The tee shirt in question had Sonic wearing a pair of sunglasses while casually leaning back against a tree.
Thinking of Sonic reminded Lincoln of a few months ago when Sonic 2 had hit cinemas as he, Lana, Lynn, and Luan had gotten hyped for it. Lincoln and Lana for the video game connection, Luan for Jim Carry, and Lynn genuinely liked Sonic. Like herself, Sonic ran and loved to go fast, so there was that connection, but she also identified with Sonic's cocky, hick, and confident attitude. To his surprise, Lola asked to tag along without explaining why and firmly claimed a spot beside him.
Lola whispered questions in his ear the whole time, not having played the games or even seen the first movie. It should have bothered him. Lincoln had been looking forward to the film all year, and she was distracting him. However, he'd had a really good time. On a whim, he grabbed a pair of sunglasses to match the Sonic picture.
Heading out of his room, Lincoln spotted the bathroom door from the corner of his eye. A strange nagging feeling made itself known, and he ran in, looking at his head in the mirror. It was odd. He wanted to look nice for Lola. Pushing it to the side with a shrug, he grabbed a comb and made himself look a little smarter before leaving to join Lola downstairs.
Lincoln remembered Lola wanted to take her and Lana's electric car, so he went out the back door where they usually parked it.
Stepping outside, he saw Lola dressed up but not overdoing it, the sunlight shining through her hair, and he noticed how cute she was for the millionth time. He did not mean anything by it. She just was. There was nothing new in that. What was new was the butterflies in his stomach. He has used the term date as a joke to show a little closer affection, but his stomach felt like it did on the few times he'd actually gone on dates. But this was not a date. He was only spending time with his younger sister.
"Hey," Lincoln said, giving Lola finger guns from both hands. He then put on the sunglasses and leaned against the side of the house in precisely the same pose as Sonic on his tee shirt.
Lola was busy prepping the little pink jeep for their town excursion, which she could only do if she took her taser. Some might have questioned their parents' ethics regarding letting their children roam until they learned how many they had to keep track of. Lola was brushing the last few leaves from the seats when Lincoln approached.
Dressed in something other than an orange polo, Lincoln almost looked like an entirely different person. And, perhaps, that's what caused Lola's breath to hitch. At first, it was as if she was meeting someone new, and her feelings were free to wander. The young man before her wasn't her brother at that moment but a sophisticated boy with neatly groomed hair and a penchant for flair, something Lola admired.
"Um, uh..." was all the stunned girl could say, letting the finger she's extended in his direction wilt. "Yeah... do you think you'll fit?" she hastily asked, trying to focus her mind as she indicated the small car.
Her chest was pounding, though she couldn't understand why. Lincoln was her brother, and they'd spent countless hours together. Whether it was for her pageants or simple sibling rivalry, of which there were many episodes over the years, something felt off. But not necessarily in the wrong way. Dismissing her state, she checked the glove compartment, ensuring she had her taser with her, then climbed into the driver's seat, waiting for her brother to join her.
Lincoln looked over the small electric car, which grew smaller every year. Well, not really, of course, but that's how it seemed. Studying the passenger seat, it was apparent there was no way he would fit in there.
"Sorry, Lola, I think it's a no-go," the boy said. Lincoln looked up at the sky, it was a lovely day, and Gus' Games and Grub was what, only a twenty-minute walk? They could do that without a problem, but it would not be as fun for Lola. He knew how much she liked to drive around, or rather, have Lana drive, so she got to feel like a VIP.
Lincoln might not have been able to drive her, not for another couple of years till he could get his license, but there was something else he could do. "Allow me to carry you, my Princess," Lincoln said in a crude attempt at a British butler accent, and before she even had time to register what was happening, Lincoln lifted the girl in one fell swoop and put her on his shoulders, supporting her legs with his hands.
"Oh, my!" Lola gasped, her short arms quickly struggling to gain traction, wrapping them around his head. "Are you sure about this? I'm not as light as I used to be."
Lola had always been conscious of her weight and figure, what little there was of it, and she didn't want to put her brother out. However, carrying her seemed to be something he insisted on, so she didn't complain. Though, there was something important he was forgetting.
"Uh, Lincoln?" she murmured, struggling to keep her arms from knocking his shades off. "Shouldn't you get my taser? Mom doesn't like it when I go out without it. She thinks someone is going to abduct me."
That might have partly been true. After all, Lola was well-known in Royal Woods and the surrounding areas as a pageant powerhouse, not to mention the online fans who knew her from commercials. Certainly, there were some deviants among them. And though her mother had yet to give her the talk, she gave Lola some wisdom when she began pageantry. And those words stuck with her. The last thing she wanted was some old pervert capturing her and making her do weird, gross things.
The problem was, she hadn't any clue what those things might be. She only had a vague, elusive understanding. And perhaps, that lent itself to any ambivalence she felt about having to haul around the cumbersome device. Part of her wanted to forget about it and resign her safety to the capable arms of her older brother. Still, she didn't want to upset her mother.
"Hey!" their mother called from the back porch, a dish in one hand and a dry rag in the other. "Where are you two off to?"
Turning to face their mother, Lincoln decided to continue with the bad British accent, "Your esteemed royal highness, I am taking the princess where she can mingle, under my watchful eye of course, with the common townsfolk to partake in some educational experiences in using electronic devices to improve her hand-eye coordination and then partake in a bountiful feast of 'The Chili Dogs' as the peasants call them."
"Um..." Rita mumbled, staring blankly at her children before checking her watch. "Fine, but be home by four so you can clean up for dinner. And don't forget your taser. It's not that I don't trust Lincoln. I just don't trust anyone else."
Then, shaking her head, she retreated inside the house, muttering about how it was enough to have one child with a faux British accent, let alone two.
"Okay then," sighed Lola, resolving to take the stupid gadget with her. "It's in the glove compartment. Get that, and we can go. Onward, Jeeves!" she declared, pointing forward.
Just being that close to her brother was unusually exhilarating. Not that they hadn't been close before. But this was different than him helping her dress or the many times she'd lost her temper and pummeled him in the hallway. No. With her legs and arms around him, she could feel the warmth of his touch, smell the scent of his hair, and it did something to her she had no understanding for.
Gently, she rested her chin on his head and drank in his essence. For the first time, she actually felt close to him. Really close, like he was an extension of herself.
Lincoln smirked at the name Jeeves Lola had bestowed upon him for this little game. "As you command, Princess," Lincoln replied. Then, he reached down, took the taser out of the car, and placed it in his pocket. He did not fancy feeling it poking him in the neck the whole way there if Lola put it in her's and she needed her hands free for balance.
As they headed out of the driveway, Lincoln initially thought it was hotter than he remembered before realizing it was coming from him. The shorts Lola wore were not that short, going down to just above her knees, so he got spared feeling her thighs directly on his neck. But still, his hands were lightly gripping her calves to ensure she was steady, and he could grab them tightly if she fell backward.
Lola's calves felt nice, incredibly smooth, which was to be expected given her strict moisturizing routines to keep her skin in top condition. Off the top of his head, Lincoln could not remember the last time he'd been in that kind of prolonged physical contact with her body. He suddenly wanted to run his hands up them to see if they were that silky to the top. It was just curiously, he told himself. There was nothing perverted in it. Moreover, he could tell her he was trying to get a more secure grip and was sure she would not even notice.
That's when a feeling of guilt hit him. Doing that would be deceptive and wrong, and it's not something a brother would do. He didn't even need to, they were close, and she was comfortable with him touching her. All he'd need to do was tell her next time they were alone in her room how incredibly soft her legs felt when he was supporting her on his shoulders and that he was curious if they were that smooth all over before asking if he could check. She'd be flattered by the compliment and say, "Of course, Linky," sweetly smiling as she hitched her dress up and lay back on the bed, spreading her legs for him.
Lincoln's face burned at the image in his head. "I'm just curious about how smooth her legs are, that's all," he screamed in his head, but it sounded somewhat hollow.
He just needed to take his mind off things, Lincoln assured himself. He was reading far too much into something totally innocent on his part. "So Lola," Lincoln began, trying to do just that. "You've been to Gus' Games and Grub a few times. I only remember seeing you at the dance games and playing air hockey with Lana. Are there any others you've tried you liked?"
"Hm..." hummed the aloft girl. "I did kind of like the air hockey one. Especially when I win," she announced, chuckling to herself. "I also like Ms. Pacman."
She never even noticed Lincoln's hands on her calves. For her, it was all innocent. After all, he needed to secure her. Still, the warmth of his palms was soothing. Comforting, if you will.
Together, she and Lincoln gabbed about games as they walked, and before long, they'd arrived, passing many familiar landmarks along the way. Lola considered stopping at Flip's for a Flippee but remembered they would grab lunch at Gus'.
Interestingly, they got plenty of strange stares as they proceeded down the sidewalk. It wasn't every day you saw a teenage boy hauling a little girl down the road. Even if they were related, it was still odd. But Lola dismissed them all. She had what she wanted, Lincoln's attention.
"So, what do you want to do first?" she inquired as Lincoln hoisted her down before entering the establishment, utterly ignorant of the long white Limo parked some distance away. "And, thank you for carting me all the way here. You can drop the accent now, though. I can imagine it's pretty hard to keep up."
"Thanks," Lincoln said, "Your still my little princess, though," ruffling her hair as he said it but only very lightly so it did not in any way mess it up.
Like an increasing number of arcades worldwide, Gus felt compelled to adapt to the times. Gone were the days when people were willing to pay $1.00 for a few minutes of gameplay on games that were graphically inferior to the latest console generation or modern PC games. The days the arcade gave you a superior experience went out the window in the 2000s with the PS 2 and X-Box. The arcade had gimmicks like dance pads, light guns, and large screens, but it was not enough.
Adjusting to the new market, arcades started charging people at the door with all the machines on free play, which made people stay even longer to take full advantage of their time and spend even more money on food and drink.
"We'll get a two-hour slot. I think that will be more than enough. Then we'll warm up with some classic Donkey Kong. It's a tough game, but there are certain tactics you can apply once you know how, and it makes the game a lot more fun as you start to make progress."
"I'm looking forward to it!" Lola beamed as they entered. Then, pulling a wad of cash out of her pocket, she offered it to Lincoln. Typically, Lola kept her money tightly zipped inside Mr. Sprinkles. But she didn't want to burden her brother and had taken it before heading downstairs. "Will this be enough?"
Lola was the studious type and always did her homeschool workbook. However, she was a little slow. She was not as slow as Leni, but she had difficulty with reading, writing, and arithmetic, things Lincoln had always helped her with. It was strange, though. When calculating compounded interest from her loans, she was always spot on. It almost seemed a need-based talent. His attention to covering for her perhaps enabled her, but that wasn't on her mind now. Getting inside and cutting loose was, however, and money was no object.
"Well, well. Lola, darling..." cooed an annoying voice as they walked through the doors. "I thought I recognized you. But..." said Winston in his peculiar accent, not quite British or American dialect. "I don't recognize this fellow. Would you care to enlighten me?"
Lola once had a crush on the boy but had given up on him after he completely snubbed the anonymous love letter she sent him on Valentine's Day a few years ago. Maybe anonymously sending it wasn't the best idea. Regardless, his voice, not to mention that stupid ascot he always wore, now made her shudder.
"Ehem," Lola coughed. "Winston... my brother, Lincoln... Lincoln, one of my compatriots, Winston..."
Lincoln eyed up the young boy in front of him. He dressed smartly and radiated class, everything Lincoln was not. Still, Lola was an excellent judge of character. If she was friends with him, he could count on that. He would not be some stuck-up asshole, whatever his fine breeding.
"Pleased to meet you," Lincoln said enthusiastically, extending his hand, "Any friend of Lola's is a friend of mine."
"Ah..." chirped Winston, extending his hand in a very limp-wristed, effeminate way. "Pleased to make your acquaintance," he said in acknowledgment before addressing Lola. "How long has it been? Almost a year, I suspect. Say!" he barked, suddenly turning toward Lincoln. "You wouldn't mind if I stole your sister's attention for a whirl at the old dance game. Would you?"
Lola's face visibly flushed, her blank gaze going back and forth between the two boys. There was a subtle yet distinct tension in the air she couldn't place.
"Now, now..." Lola interjected. "Please, don't make a fuss over me. Usually, I'm all for it, but Winston..." she said as her voice grew softer. "I'm here with Lincoln today."
She was unaware of what she'd said, how she'd said it, and what those words might have meant to someone listening. Whether she could salvage the moment, she didn't know. The one thing she was sure of was that something had gone from pleasant to uncomfortable exceptionally quickly.
A light blush spread over Lincoln's cheeks. He'd misinterpreted Lola's mild awkwardness towards Winston as classic signs of a childhood crush. With his mind running rampant, Lincoln imagined that if Lola had been a cartoon character, there would have been little hearts floating around her head. Lincoln had fully braced himself to be a third wheel or completely ditched, meeting her at the food counter later.
Would he have been disappointed? Sure, but he'd have been happy for her to spend time with a friend she liked. It took his mind back to when he and Ronnie Anne used to hang out a few years before she moved away, and they had slowly drifted apart.
But no, she had turned down this obvious crush to spend time with him. There was a warm feeling in his chest, and he felt this goofy smile trying to break out on his face.
"Um, t-t-that's really n-nice of you to say, Lola," Lincoln stammered awkwardly. "We have plans, but I don't want to get in the way of you spending time with your friends... um... how about Winston join us, just for a little bit? Then, we can hang out, just the two of us, for the rest of our time. That is if you don't mind?" Lincoln said, looking between the both of them.
"Thank you for the magnanimous offer," Winston said with dramatic flare, "I see now I was, dare I say it, rather boorish in wanting to monopolize Lola's time when she clearly had company. I regret my indiscretion and would be delighted to join the two of you for a moment if Lady Lola approves."
"Well..." sighed the flustered girl. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt. After all, we have a lot to catch up on. But, first things first. We need to pay for our time. Why don't you reserve us a table while we do that?"
Lola was somewhat nonplussed. She wanted to spend her afternoon with Lincoln, not Winston. Occasionally he'd serve as a peer judge at her pageants and hadn't consistently voted her way. To a degree, she respected that. She liked winners, especially if they won on merit, as Lana had done once. On the other hand, something about him set her off, and she wasn't sure she wanted him hanging around.
However, he was still handsome, and Lola nodded happily, consenting to his company. So, why did she immediately regret it? She could've said no and left it at that. Was her past infatuation influencing her, or whatever happened between her and Lincoln? Regardless, an uncertainty settled in her brain.
"Lincoln?" she asked quietly, looking into his eyes as she handed over the money. "Shall we?"
Now, Winston was no slouch. He was well groomed, studied, and showed great poise and awareness. Something was going on, but the lad didn't know what. Nodding in agreeance, he walked off to find a suitable booth.
Purchasing their time slots, they got wristbands with a simple alarm inside. It would start beeping when their time was up, bringing their attention to a staff member if they tried to stay in longer.
"Let me help," Lincoln said, knowing the clasp could be tricky to do one-handed. He knelt before her on one knee and took her hand in his. As he struggled with the clip, Lincoln felt self-conscious for some reason. Why? What was there to be self-conscious about going down on one knee in front of a girl and taking their hand?
"Oh, crap," he thought.
Despite Lincoln's position, Lola didn't share his discomfort. Of course, her mind hadn't yet grown into such things. All she knew is her brother was helping her as always. To her, it was a simple gesture, nothing more.
"Thanks, Linc," she purred, adjusting the lay of the elastic band so that it didn't irritate her wrist. Then, looking into the crowd, her palm on her forehead, she searched for Winston. "Did you see which way he went?" she inquired when she noticed him. The boy stood near a booth near the back, waving politely at her, beckoning them over.
Lola's heart fluttered. At the same time, a biting chill ran across her. In a way, it felt almost like guilt, though not entirely. But, what had she to be guilty of, she wondered. Sounding practically distracted and distant, she offered Lincoln her hand without looking at him. "C-come on, Lincoln..." she said quietly. "We should place our orders so they can prepare them while we play."
She hadn't meant to sound so uninterested. But that's how it came from her mouth.
"Chop, chop!" called Winston from across the room. "I only have thirty minutes left on my band," he announced as if he hadn't the money to buy more time.
Mentally Lincoln was beating himself up again, getting flustered over nothing. He was worried that she would get embarrassed and didn't even notice!
Her voice sounded somewhat distant, though. Was she already starting to regret coming here with him, feeling obligated to stay with him when she could instead be having fun with Winston? He would ensure they had fun together if she thought she owed Lincoln too much to admit it.
After placing their food order, they joined Winston at one of the unoccupied games he had picked, Point Blank, a light-gun game. Unlike most light-gun games, where you shot endless waves of faceless soldiers, this was a series of diverse mini-games. One minute you were shooting yellow rubber ducks as they floated past. The next, you were shooting balloons as they rose. While it had a single-player mode, it achieved its notoriety as having one of the best two-player experiences due to being competitive rather than the standard co-op approach of other multiplayer light gun games, which he expected was why Winston had picked it.
"Point Blank, good choice," Lincoln said approvingly.
"Thank you, old bean," Winston said, beaming. "I thought perhaps you and I would play for the honor of facing Miss Lola?"
"Not a bad shout," Lincoln said, nodding. "Is that okay, Lola? You can watch us to see how the game gets played. It's a series of simple mini-games, and instructions on the screen before each one shows what you need to hit and what to avoid along with the time limit and how many shots."
Lola's mouth cocked to one side as she folded her arms and stood back. "I suppose," she grumbled, recalling how competitive the boys were. Winston had pageants to his credit, while Lincoln was gung ho about all games. "Just remember, we're here to have fun. If you two start throwing down over a silly game, you can walk home together."
"Now, Lola, dearie," Winston chirped, glowing like he'd already won. "Why ever would it come to that?" he asked, gently punching Lincoln in the bicep. "We're just having a spat of fun, Lincoln and I!"
"Yeah... over me," sighed Lola almost inaudibly.
Curiously, she stood back and watched the exchange, her mind nearly exceeding her mental speed limit. Both boys seemed to want her attention and company. In the past, she would've basked in such things. But it was about Lincoln today, and Winston was getting in the way.
Part of her hoped the rich boy would win, only so she could show him up and beat him. But then, that would've devalued Lincoln's prowess at the game, which is something she couldn't bring herself to do. After all, if Winston did manage to best Lincoln, only to be followed by her beating Winston, how would that make her brother feel after so many years of practice? Most likely, Lincoln's self-confidence would plummet.
It wasn't as if Lola hadn't any skills, though. How many food fights have they had over the years? Too many, but more than enough to teach Lola how to aim. And, with Lynn around, tossing a ball was a given.
Lola rolled her tongue against the inside of her cheek as she watched, blissfully unaware that something was changing inside her, something uncomfortable.
Winston was good, no doubt about it. He probably out-classed him in raw talent. However, Lincoln had five years of experience over him, and when you're that young, five years seems almost like an eternity.
Lincoln wondered if he should throw the game and give Lola and Winston time together. But he couldn't, not just because he was pretty sure Winston would notice and might say something to make Lola aware, but he didn't want to.
Finishing the game well ahead, Winston graciously excepted defeat, "Dash it all, I was well and truly pipped to the post!"
"You played well," Lincoln said modestly, "Better than I was at your age. Play me again in five years, and I'm sure you'd take me to the cleaners."
"Well, not to worry," said Winston smiling in a way that Lincoln found a little unnerving, "It occurs to me, given Lola dear's lack of experience, it's only fair I give her some assistance in facing you." Grinning at Lola, Winston took her hand with his free one and placed it on the light gun with his hand over the top of her's and leaned in close to her, "Here," he said, "It would be my honor to assist you in the next game against your brother."
If Lola wasn't already uncomfortable in her skin, she certainly was then. With her brows slightly furrowed, she looked first at Winston, then at Lincoln. Sighing, Lola allowed Winston to place her hands. If only he knew how many times she'd played games like this with Lincoln over the years, not to mention a passing familiarity with weapons, most notably her taser. However, Lincoln had it, not her. A slight resurgence of her younger self surfaced, urging her to zap the meddlesome boy. But then, that would've ruined the whole outing.
As it was, Lola was more than confident at shooting imaginary objects in a game. "I'm ready," muttered Lola, trying to avoid Winston's touch. She then closed one eye and focused the other along the barrel of the electronic gun.
Once Lincoln started the game and the instructions for the first level appeared and faded, Lola began shooting. But, after a while, she shrugged free from Winston's hands. "I appreciate the help, Winston," she offered, "but I can do this myself. I've played games like this before. Besides, you lost," she quipped, not entirely being nice or mean.
Her emotions were conflicted. The boys weren't in competition for her heart. Were they? No. That was stupid. Winston had moved on, and Lincoln was her brother. Why, then, all the chivalry and competitive stances? It was almost as if she had gotten abducted overnight and dropped off in some bizarre world she didn't understand.
The game was progressing nicely, and much to Lincoln's shock, while he was still ahead, she had beaten him in a couple of rounds. He wondered, had all that gymnast training improved her hand-eye coordination for games?
Even more surprising, though, was Lola shrugging off Winston's help. Had he misjudged the situation? He could have sworn she'd looked at him with puppy dog eyes. Did she genuinely want to spend time with him rather than Winston? That thought made him so happy he lost concentration and the round they were on shooting targets on a series of racks.
They finished the last round. Lincoln won, as was to be expected, but Lola put in a good show. She had nothing to be ashamed of.
"Sorry, Lola," Lincoln said sheepishly, "I know you don't like losing, but I figured you'd be even more annoyed if I lost on purpose." Did Lola honestly want to spend time with him over Winston, or was he projecting his feelings onto her?
A thought crossed his mind, a way to test it. Near the far wall was the driving game Daytona USA with two machines linked together with little race cars you could sit in.
"Say, how about we try Daytona USA next?" Lincoln said, pointing over to the coupled machines. "And rather than sit out this time, what if Lola joined one of us in the cars to make it a team effort, one of you on the peddles, the other on the steering wheel? What do you say, Lola?" Lincoln asked, hopeful she'd say yes and pick him.
"A racing game?!" sneered Lola, wringing her hands. "Now you are speaking my language! But, let's control cars of our own. I bet I'll smoke both of you!" she declared, strutting to the nearest car.
She was sure Winston got chauffeured everywhere. And, game or not, Lincoln had never driven. Conversely, Lola had years of practice in her little jeep. While it wasn't a real car, how different could it be? You pressed the go pedal to go, the stop pedal to stop, and steered. And, if you wanted to cut someone off, gain the advantage first. But, more than anything, you had to play the other drivers against each other. Take things slow and carefully. Sometimes it was best to stay behind another driver until the right moment.
"I tell you what, Winston," she chirped, unrealistically assured of herself. "If I win, you let me and Lincoln spend the rest of the day alone. If you win, you can stay. Buckle up, flyboy..."
She hated being mean to someone she used to care about. Well, no, she didn't. Not really. She could be spiteful when she wanted to be. However, she needed to show Winston his earlier assumption that her skills as a girl were premature.
"If you insist," replied Winston, "But what if we upped the stakes? If you win, I'll be on my merry way as you suggest. But, if I win, in addition to allowing me to continue to bask in your radiance until my time is up, you and your charming brother will join me and some friends at a little soiree I'm putting together next month at my mansion. Unless you wished to bow out, of course!"
Grimacing at the thought of Winston winning not only the race but also her didn't fit in her plans. Nevertheless, she accepted his terms. "Lincoln?" she asked apprehensively, "start our engines!" she requested, nodding toward the big green GO button.
While the man with the plans ill-conceived plan had not gone according to plan, Lincoln nonetheless had the answer he wanted loud and clear. She'd just announced she would be fighting to spend the rest of the day with him and only him!
Still, he was a little disappointed. Lola snuggled up close on his lap while they played would have been very cozy.
Never mind, what was taking place was exciting, and Lincoln was all for it and decided to utilize the opportunity to indulge in some dramatics.
"It's a great day today in Santa Barbara. The gators are snapping, Disney World is packed, and the streets have been cleared for this race. I have goose pimples!" Lincoln began, "And it's not just any race, oh no, today we have racing with us Lola Loud, twelve-time champion of the, er, backyard circuit! A hazardous track where she must avoid many children, three adults, a cat, a dog, and a bird! But that's not all! No, ladies and gentlemen. Also racing with us today is Winston, Winston, um, sorry, what's your name?" Lincoln asked, breaking character.
"Milbourne, Winston Milbourne," the boy said with a smile.
"Winston Milbourne," Lincoln continued, "Wait... Milbourne? Why does that name sound familiar?" Lincoln said out loud.
"Perhaps, old chap, you're thinking of Jeremy Milbourne?" Winston offered. "He has been in the news recently, don't you know."
"Oh! Of course!" Lincoln exclaimed, "Jeremy Milbourne, who won the world Formula 1 championship in Cairo just last week... wait... don't tell me..." Lincoln said, trailing off.
"My father," Winston said smugly, "Being born into old money, father never needed to work, so he pursued his two great passions: philanthropy and Formula 1 racing. He has his own track, of course, on our private land, and that being the case, he modified a car for me where I can reach the pedals. Naturally, I'm not anywhere near fathers ability, but I can certainly handle myself and achieve professional times."
Lincoln's mouth fell open as he took it all in. "Well, that's certainly...something." He said flabbergasted.
"Indeed," said Winston. "Now, be a good fellow and press that green button. I want to get underway."
"Right, right," said Lincoln, "Um... on your marks, get set... go!" Lincoln hit the button and stepped back. This race was going to be interesting.
Lola and Winston were neck and neck once the race began, and the pace car left the track. Several other cars were ahead of them, so neither gained position immediately. Instead, they ran side by side until the slower cars fell back, thinning the herd. It wasn't until the second lap that Lola saw an opportunity and drafted past the vehicle ahead of them, putting her one position up. However, on the next turn, Winston had the inside track, and with several cars drafting behind him, he overtook her before hitting the next straightaway.
The position swapped several times throughout the race, and both sweat like dogs, their hands becoming slippery on the wheel. Every so often, Lola would glance at her rival only to see him sneering back at her in a playful way. "Dang it!" she thought. "I can't let him win!" But her mouth may have gotten her in trouble. Again. Winston had more experience than she gave him credit for. "Touché, Winston," she thought again. "I should've taken my own advice and not prejudged you."
They were neck and neck for the lead by the final lap, behind only one car. On the last turn, approaching the man ready with the checkered flag, Winston fell behind, and Lola seized the chance to pass the leader. Only, she misjudged the distance between them on the monitor, which proved much different than real life. Clipping the lead car, they both spun out onto the infield. Meanwhile, Winston slowed with the pack and won under the caution flag.
"DANG IT!" Lola shouted, banging her little fists on the steering wheel before exiting her car. "I was so sure I could win!"
"Don't take it too hard, Lola," Winston encouraged. "Perhaps you would have, had it not been for that unfortunate accident."
"Well..." sighed Lola, folding her arms defensively. "You did win fair and square, and I appreciate a winner," she told him. "I have to honor my word. You can stay. But I'm not happy about it."
"On the contrary, lass," Winston announced as his band began sounding. "I am afraid I'm out of time, and my mother will want to take me home now. Besides..." he said, nodding toward their table. "It looks like your food has arrived."
Then, grabbing Lola's hand, the boy raised it and kissed it tenderly. "It's been a pleasure. Be sure to check your mailbox for the invitations! Until we meet again," he said, turning and heading toward the parking lot.
Lola released a long-held breath, walked over to their booth, slipped in, and propped up her head, her elbows on the table, looking somewhat bleak.
Seeing his sister like this broke Lincoln's heart. An older brother's job was to be a shield for them, to protect them. He slid into the booth next to her, "Hey," Lincoln said. "Tough break, but given his experience, you were incredible."
Lincoln's afternoon was not going according to plan. To soothe her, Lincoln gently placed his palm on her back and began to stroke her. He did this for a little while before moving his lips over to her ear and whispering, "Look at this way, I'm yours for the rest of the day now, and I mean it when I say there is no place I'd rather be right now than with you."
"Oh, Lincoln..." Lola sighed, picking her head up and resting it on his shoulder. "I don't mind losing. But I think I hurt Winston. I let my competitive nature get the best of me. I thought I was past all that."
Looking toward the parking lot, she watched as her friend got into their family limo and drove off. Her heart hurt, but she wasn't sure why. She didn't particularly like the boy anymore, but he was still a good person. What did that make her?
"At least the food looks good," she announced, vainly trying to steer the conversation elsewhere.
Sitting up and grabbing one of the chilidogs, she took a rather large bite, closing her eyes and tilting her head back as she enjoyed the meal. Along with the hotdogs, they'd ordered shakes and fries. Lola's was chocolate, and she took a long pull from it before smiling at her brother, a large brown mustache on her upper lip.
"Thanks for not rubbing it in," she said. "And you were right earlier when you assumed I'd be upset if you threw the shooter game. I'm glad you stayed true to yourself. I had a lot of fun."
Lincoln smiled at his sister and her chocolate shake mustache. She looked absolutely adorable. "Here, you gotta little something," he said and picked up a napkin, bringing it over to just above her top lip. He almost felt like a father dotting on his daughter, but as he moved it down and across, his fingers paused at how soft and delicate her lip felt between his fingers and the napkin. He applied just a tiny bit more pressure as he ran over the rest, then almost in a daze, Lincoln moved it back the other way, dipping lower and brushing both her lips this time, them parting ever so slightly as he did so and exposing the more sensitive edges inside to the napkin.
"There," he said, putting the napkin on the table, "Now you're perfect."
"Pfft," Lola spat, chuckling at her brother. "Just between you and me," she said with a wink. "I'm nowhere near perfect."
Sighing, she set her chilidog down, stuffed a French fry into her mouth, and continued talking.
"Have you ever wondered why I do the things I do?" she rhetorically asked. "It's because I always feel so inadequate. We have so many older siblings that stand out on their own. I got stuck with a twin and had to do whatever it took to stand out. I didn't get the special feeling of being the new child."
And as Lola emptied her heart, she couldn't help but start crying. Everything she'd ever done had come home to roost, littering the coop with feathers and other things.
"I feel like something's missing," she admitted. "I just don't know what."
Wanting to protect Lola from the later embarrassment and because, as her brother, it was impossible not to do this on instinct, Lincoln gently pulled the crying girl towards him and buried her face in his chest as he hugged her tightly.
"Let me let you in a little secret," Lincoln said in his best comforting voice, "One thing I picked up speaking to adults over the last couple of years is that feeling you have, that emptiness, it's perfectly normal. As we get older, we become less satisfied with what made us happy and content when we were younger. This feeling is just your heart's way of helping you to grow and change, and you know what? Some people feel this way for a very long time as they try out and experience different things to find something special that makes them feel content. But it's not like they feel bad all the time. It's overshadowed by the wonder and excitement of these new experiences, which makes them happy, even if they are not exactly what they were looking for after all, and move on."
Lincoln gently pushed Lola back up off her chest so he could see her. Her tears blurred her eyes, and the spartan eyeliner she had applied to complement her natural beauty had gotten smudged.
"This emptiness you're feeling, maybe someday you'll fill it by doing the best job in the world, maybe you'll find your true love or start a family, whatever it is you have your whole life ahead of you to find out and explore so rather than be sad you should be excited you have so many exciting things to look forward to."
Lincoln smiled at Lola, a pure and honest smile that projected his deep love for her as her brother.
"And what's more, you don't even have to worry about doing all this alone. I'll support you every step of the way because I love you so much."
"True love... a family of my own..." Lola mumbled through her tears. "That sounds nice, but only if whoever I marry is like you. I don't know why you've always been there for me. Let's face it. I'm a total mess," she admitted. "All I ever do is boss you and the others around, stick my nose where it doesn't belong... heck, I even charge you guys interest when I loan you money," the little girl sobbed. "What did I ever do to deserve you?"
Something clicked somewhere in the dark recesses of her mind, though it would be a very long time before it bubbled to the surface. In the meantime, she was confused and wary. Though, one thing stood out.
"I'm just glad I have you, Lincoln," she muttered. "I think I might have fallen apart a long time ago otherwise. Now..." she suggested, wiping her tears away. "Let's finish our lunch, then have a go at the dance game. I'll even let you pick the song. How about it?"
The rest of the day passed without any more emotional turmoil as the two children enjoyed their time together.
The dance game Lola picked had been a blast, both up on the dance pad, Lincoln using his incredible voice to sing after he put it in karaoke mode. The Loud siblings even got a bit of an audience and some claps at the end.
The song Lincoln had picked felt appropriate; Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now by Starship. In some ways, the ideal piece for close siblings to sing, with its line, "If the world runs out of lovers, we'll still have each other."
… Lookin' in your eyes
I see a paradise
This world that I've found is too good to be true
Standin' here beside you
Want so much to give you
This love in my heart that I'm feeling for you
… Let 'em say we're crazy
I don't care about that
Put your hand in my hand
Baby, don't ever look back
Let the world around us
Just fall apart
Baby, we can make it
If we're heart to heart
… And we can build this dream together
Standing strong forever
Nothing's gonna stop us now
And if this world runs out of lovers
We'll still have each other
Nothing's gonna stop us
Nothing's gonna stop us now
… Oh, whoa
Unbeknownst to Lincoln at the time, however, is that in time, a different part of the lyrics would come to define their relationship, "… Let 'em say we're crazy, I don't care about that, Put your hand in my hand, Baby, don't ever look back, Let the world around us, Just fall apart, Baby, we can make it, If we're heart to heart..."
There had been other great moments. Lincoln had talked Lola through Donkey Kong like he had planned, and she had cried out in jubilation when she reached the top.
He had also won her a cute bunny from one of the claw machines by catching the claw on the tag loop to get around that they were at the core gambling machines, where the claw only engaged after a certain amount of money got fed into them.
The trip home had been uneventful, too, Lola even rested a bit, her eyes half closed, and he took her upstairs for an hour power nap before dinner. That had been a bust, though, when Lola leaped up and grabbed him, pulling him down onto the bed with her and insisting on cuddling instead, which Lincoln had been happy to indulge her in.
The only snag was around halfway through. Lana had opened the door, came inside, looked at them, said, "I'm not gonna ask," and walked out again.
During dinner, the pair kept stealing glances at each other, neither was sure exactly why, but they felt their eyes drawn to each other's. It was late now, though, and the Loud siblings tucked themselves into their respective beds, alone with their thoughts.
With the day's commotion out of the way, and boy was it tumultuous, Lola lay in her single-wide canopy bed, staring at the cloth above her. While the day had begun rather mundanely, it had ended with a bang. She and Lincoln had spent almost the entire day together, and for once, Lola cut loose a little. She had her moments, of course, but ultimately, she conceded to Lincoln, something long overdue.
But, in doing so, she learned numerous things she might not otherwise have. The problem was she didn't precisely know what she had learned. Instead, there was a persistent nagging feeling that everything was changing and changing fast. Where their newfound bond would take them, Lola had no idea. But, wherever it ended up was alright. Lincoln had never steered her wrong before, and she doubted he ever would.
Making a mental note to call Winston the following day and apologize also seemed like a good idea. Pageantry was difficult enough. Making enemies of friends wouldn't do her any favors. She needed Winston on her side when he served as a peer judge. The thing that bothered her most was his apparent affection for her. It still hadn't waned, even after all those years. Or maybe, he was just like that and treated everyone as if they were something he could win.
Either way, she'd spend time with Lincoln and Winston at the latter's soiree in a few days. How would that go, she wondered. Would Winston continue his attempts at wooing her? Didn't her bet tell him how she felt about him? No matter, she thought. At least Lincoln would be there to ward off unwanted attention, her big, strong protector.
Then, there was Lincoln. Lola always knew he loved her. He had to. It was in the family contract. But something about his words and actions that day spoke to something more she couldn't identify, even if she wanted to. The truth was right there in plain sight, but she couldn't see it. Even if she had, she never would've admitted it.
Her feelings were the last thing she considered before her eyes closed for the night. Lincoln was sweet and a wonderful big brother. "If only..." she thought. But before her frazzled mind could complete the thought, the purple veil of slumber silenced her.
Today had been great, Lincoln concluded. He and Lola got to spend a lot of time together. What's more, it felt more relaxing and free-form than usual, like for a while now, their relationship had been painfully bumping up against this invisible wall it needed to break through to grow in the way it needed to.
It was funny just how much things had turned around. Lincoln had started the day subconsciously trying to put some artificial distance between them from his insecurities about growing older, and he'd ended up feeling closer to her than he ever had before. Whatever abstract thought process that had been pulling them apart just seemed to have given up, and now looking back, it seemed strange that he had ever not wanted to be as close to her as possible.
Even now, he wanted to be in bed with her, cuddling like they were before dinner. It had been so relaxing. Maybe he could invite her over for a sleepover at some point? It would have to be secret because, well, stepping back, yeah, he knew it was a little weird.
Of course, he freely admitted, to himself, his mind had wandered to some odd places during the day. He might have worried about slipping into creepy territory if he did not know himself so well. However, Lincoln could explain it away as being a little backed up, with hormones misdirecting him. It was nothing serious. He just needed to unleash the tension.
Having switched from briefs to boxers last year to cope with the constriction caused by his pubertal growth spurt, he had far more access to his junk than before.
He was not surprised to find he was already pretty hard just from the anticipation. Lincoln's mind opened up, and he began to think of the various go-to's for his spank bank. There was that time he kissed Girl Jordan at a party. Stella, when he and the gang had gone to the water park, her swimsuit was a little too small and strained against her developing breasts.
There were celebrities too, Kate Mulgrew from Star Trek Voyager, who played Captain Janeway. Sure, she was older, and Jeri Ryan, as Seven of Nine, was supposed to be the sex appeal of the show. Still, he'd take Janway and her commanding presence and traces of maternal compassion for her crew over the cold and logical Seven of Nine any day of the week.
There were other women too, young women in their very early twenties playing teenagers in some of the early 2000s sex comedies he'd seen, and of course, the ultimate goddess for any science fiction nerd, Carrie Fisher as Princess Leia, especially in the gold bikini Jabba had her wear in Return of the Jedi.
It was just as he neared climax, a pleasant revolving door of attractive and sexy girls and women passing in front of his eyes, that a memory of this morning forced itself to the surface, elbowing all the other images aside, that of Lola standing in front of him in nothing but her panties, her bare chest and nipples on full display and her creamy looking thighs around her crotch.
Horrified, Lincoln tried to stop, but the signal died somewhere between his brain and his hand, and it was to this practically naked image of his little sister that Lincoln came and came hard. It was by far the most intense orgasm he'd experienced, and he grunted and arched his back, his head spinning from the endorphins busting through his brain.
Worst of all, his imagination did not stop at the clear image of Lola's near-naked body. It kept going. The semen gushed into his pumping hand, and in his mind, he was spraying it all over the nipples that stood upon Lola's non-existent breasts while she watched with fascination and excitement.
Finally, after what felt like hours but had only been twenty seconds in reality, Lincoln fell back on his bed, utterly spent and panting like a dog that had gotten left locked in a car on a hot day.
Minutes passed before Lincoln calmed down, and some semblance of normal cognitive processes returned to him.
Gradually Lincoln was able to reflect on what he had just done. With surprising clarity, he knew there were only two possible ways to look at what had happened. The first, it meant nothing, a random moment of misplaced hormonal urges that in no way reflected how he felt about Lola, and he should not worry about it. The other way, that was too bad even to contemplate. The notion was some horrific Lovecraft-like thing that would drive anyone who looked upon it mad, so he locked it away deep down inside, refusing to consider it.
Lincoln reassured himself that everything was fine as sleep started to overtake him. There was absolutely nothing to worry about.
